


Through Words Thick and Thin

by jisungahyung



Category: Dream Team - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 60s AU, Best Friends, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Cute romance, DNF, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Letters, Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, NO ANGST DONT WORRY, Pining, Slow Burn, dreamnotfound, incorrect history, long distance, school au, so cute istg, ughhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:08:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29918760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jisungahyung/pseuds/jisungahyung
Summary: In the year of 1966, George finds himself receiving a wrongly sent letter. It was just by chance that a letter was sent from Florida all the way to Britain. A wrongly delivered letter. A mistake. But somehow those words would spread through years. Words that are unforgettable.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound
Comments: 7
Kudos: 49





	Through Words Thick and Thin

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! i might not update this often because of school but:  
> \- don't share this to cc's  
> \- don't ship anyone unless they're okay with it (dream and george said they were)  
> \- don't harass any cc's  
> and as always pls enjoy :]
> 
> another note: aubrey is fictional! i just wanted to add an extra character

It was in the year of 1966, when George had just turned 10 years old. He was surrounded by the few relatives who had lived in the area which included his mother, his uncle, and grandmother. A small party made of people from his mother’s side, but it was enough to make him content. The television was blaring in the back, but the sounds of clapping and singing the song ‘Happy Birthday’ drowned it out as little George blew out the nine candles on top of his small cake. He felt a hug from his mother and his uncle rub his back. It was a day where he was the center of attention and it warmed his heart. 

After that, his relatives had spread out. His mother cleaning up the dishes and humming a tune, his uncle watching the news on the TV, and his grandmother walking slowly to him to help him unwrap his presents. They were small gifts; as were the years before that. The gifts usually fit into his palm, and if he was lucky he would need two hands to hold it. His heart was giddy with excitement as he ripped off the paper; though his grandmother put a hand on his shoulder and told him to not rip the paper. 

The first gift was from his uncle. In the front it said ‘To George; From your Uncle Danny’. He looked up at his uncle who was slouched on the sofa, watching the black and white figures tell him something about the world George couldn’t care less about. He looked down at his hands to see a racing car with sleek, red paint on it. His eyes lit up at the toy. He knew his uncle would always give the best gifts. 

The next gift was from his mother. He didn’t have to read the card to know it was her just from the packaging, which came from reused gift wrap. It was all torn up from George’s careless ripping, barely held together using tape. As he opened it, his small hands struggled with the amount of tape making his grandmother crouch down and help him with it. He heard small, soft words of advice from her, but his ears were just hearing the word ‘gifts’ over and over, understandably so from a young child. Once it was finally opened, he saw a stuffed animal. It had always been her trademark gift; this time the animal was a bunny. Cute. George hugged it, feeling its rough but still quite velvety softness. 

The last gift was handed by him from his grandmother. She just smiled softly as she stood up and walked to the chair beside the window. George tilted his head in confusion, but still looked down at his hands. What he saw was a plastic pot with holes at the bottom, a bag of soil neatly wrapped in plastic, and three seeds in a small brown bag. At the bottom of the pot, he saw a card with the note written, ‘There will be a day where you need to choose and don’t be afraid when the day comes.’ At the time, George just shrugged his shoulders, only excited about the plant in his hands.

As he gathered his gifts, he saw an unopened letter in the midst of it. It looked clean, free of dirt which was unusual for mail that arrives. He crouched down to look at the letter. A stamp at the top right, written in messy cursive. It was the address that shocked him the most though.

It had come from a whole other country, straight from the USA, specifically from the state of Florida. His skin buzzed with excitement; he’d never seen anything from out of the country other than on TV shows. He looked at the adults in the room, waiting for them to intervene. When none of them did, he slipped his hand under the letter and put it on top of his pile of gifts. He walked into his rooms, his pace slower with his balance being challenged with the gifts. 

As he closed the door on his small bedroom, he put the gifts down on his study table. Carefully, he plucked out the letter from on top of the pile, careful not to crumple the clean, white paper. He brought the paper to his lips; it smelled like how the mail that his relatives send him does. But it also has a tinge of green apples and vanilla. It was a weird combination, but it was oddly addicting. He sniffed it once more before moving on. 

He looked down on the mail, the flap of the letter stuck with adhesive. He pursed his lips and slowly opened the mail, contrary to how he usually opens things. After a long moment of pulling back the flap and praying to God that it wouldn’t rip apart, it was finally fully open. He reached into the mail to find a small, folded letter and a pressed flower tied around it. 

It was a pink rose, dried out from moisture to survive the arduous trip to Britain. George could tell the rose would have been beautiful. He opened the letter to see a few lines of scribbled text. He laughed inwardly; he could barely read it! What kind of person would write a letter with that preposterous handwriting? But he bore it no mind since it only heightened his excitement of whoever this foreigner could be. The text read:

_Dear William,_

_Hello! This is me, Clay, writing. As you know, it is my father’s birthday. Yay! My family and I are grateful for your father’s kindness during the war, and my mom told me to write this to you to express our gratitude. We could never pay you enough. And personally, I would like to be your friend. You would be a nice fella with your father being such a hero._

_Sincerely,_ _  
__Dream and family_

  
  


“Dream, don’t forget to wash the dishes okay? Take care of Patches.” 

“Alright, mom. Bye-bye.” Dream said as he felt a wet kiss lodge on his forehead. He wiped it off secretly as his mom’s back was turned before it disappeared into the doorway. The door shut close on his face as he only saw the calendar pinned up on the door and a few drawings made by him and his sister taped on the surface.

He slumped down. Washing the dishes had never been his favorite thing, though none of the chores ever were. It was midday, but the sun was still faint in the sky with only light bulbs hanging from the ceiling giving him light. Snow was falling down slowly, wisps of flakes piling up on the room and on the lawn. He has the urge to lick it, see what it tastes like, but his older sister Aubrey never let him. She puts a hand on his shoulder and looks him in the eye and right after that, he stops. What control she has over his little brother. 

Patches was under the Christmas tree, shining lights adoring her fur as she purred into sleep. Gifts had already piled up from different colleagues and relatives of his, but all of it just served to add the aesthetic of the holiday. It felt nice, but wasn’t what he wanted. In actuality, he didn’t really know what he wanted, though Patches had been his favorite gift of all time. He’s only been with her for a year, but she is integral to him already.

Knocking him out of his thoughts was the pounding of his door. It was in a rhythm, a familiar one. Three fast knocks, then two slower ones, repeated until someone opened it. Dream lit up, walking towards the place where he stood in silence to the doorknob. He turned it and pulled it open, revealing a red nosed Sapnap, his neighbor and best friend.

A bright smile was slapped on the boy’s face, revealing his crooked, though still charming teeth. A winter hat was pulled over his head and ears, only revealing the slightest of his earlobe which had been painted red from the cold. He also had mittens on, both knitted by the love of his mother. It used tacky colors but it was still nice to look at. Finally, a woolen jacket was pulled over his torso, finally sealing warmth into him. 

“Let’s build a snowman?” Sapnap said, feet shuffling unable to contain his excitement. 

Though Dream was just about to say yes, he stopped himself and saw the dirty dishes in his sink. He put a hand on his chin and hesitated.

“I don’t know man...mom told me to wash the dishes.” Dream said as he rubbed his nape. The chilly air from outside made him want to hug himself tighter.

“Come onnn, you can make your sister do it. It’s just one day and it’s _snowing_!” Sapnap pleaded, grabbing Dream’s hands to beg. 

Dream stopped and thought. His sister was in her room, probably writing another letter to a mysterious person. She wouldn’t mind right? Besides, it was payback for every time he had to be forced out into the blistering cold to deliver those letters. It was decided then.

“Okay! I’ll just get my jacket and we can play.” Dream smiled, receiving a whoop from the boy in front of him. Sapnap had always been the more childish of the two, considering Dream was 9 and Sapnap was two years younger, being 7. It was a no brainer that he wouldn’t mind responsibilities as much as Dream did, though he was a kid himself and didn’t always do as he was told. 

He went back inside the house, running up the stairs to get his winter jacket and mittens. As he ran back down, he stopped to pat Patches’ head, before leaving the house, ready to play with Sapnap.

They played with each other on Dream’s driveway, which hadn’t been cleared of snow in a few days yet which meant a lot more building materials for the two. Dream could feel the snow seep into the mittens, chilling his skin as he patted his snow down into a ball to add to the small army of miniature snowmen he had created. Meanwhile, Sapnap was taking his time and making a bigger snowman than his companion. It was as tall as him, which isn’t that impressive since he was a lot shorter than Dream, being at 4 feet tall, while Dream was massive for his age, being 4’4”. 

As they continued toying with each other’s creations, Dream noticed the mailbox post further away from him. The red sign was up, signifying there was mail. Dream widened his eyes; his mom hasn’t picked it up yet. He left his snowman army, hoping Sapnap wouldn’t destroy it, and opened the mailbox to see that two letters were inside, leaning on the metal box. He jumped in excitement, getting attention from his friend at the back. 

“Hey Sapnap, this must be a letter from the guy in Britain!” Dream said excitedly, reaching into the mailbox to get the two letters.

He looked at his friend to see his snowman army completely destroyed with Sapnap frozen in the middle of the act. Dream looked at him deadpanned, but didn’t want to waste his energy on his friend. 

“Sorry.” Sapnap apologized, but didn’t sound like it.

“Whatever. Look at this!” Sapnap ran up to Dream, wanting to see what was in the boy’s hands.

Sapnap gasped as he saw the address on the letter. “Dang, dude! That’s so cool!”

“I know, I know! Let’s check it out.” Dream said. Sapnap huddled beside him with barely contained excitement.

Just as Dream was about to open the letter, a sound came from Sapnap’s house. Dream turned his head to see Sapnap’s mother standing at the doorway, her hands on her waist. The warm glow from his friend’s house was apparent and the noises bustling with his relatives voices. Sapnap looked at Clay in disappointment, heaving a heavy sigh.

Dream felt a bit bad for the younger for once, so he put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Don’t worry, Sapnap! I’ll read it to you tomorrow.”

“Okay, but don’t forget okay?!” Sapnap glared, but it honestly just looked like a kitten trying to be threatening. Dream nodded his head and watched as his friend ran up to his mother and entered his house, filled with warmth.

Dream, too, was a bit disappointed they wouldn’t get to play any longer. Nonetheless, he entered back into his house, clutching the two letters in his hands. He took off his shoes and put them on the rack that was decorated with different assortments of shoes for every occasion, owned by him, his sister, and his parents. He took off the jacket and put it in the coat rack. He reached towards a sweater that was lazily thrown onto a chair and pulled it over his head, reveling in the newfound warmth. Then, it was finally time to check the letters. 

He chose one of the letters that had been from Britain. He was excited to hear from William, who hopefully accepted his invitation of being long distance friends. It would be difficult to work through the extended time period of sending and receiving letters, but he was optimistic. He ripped open the letter and took out the folded letter, and it said:

_Dear Dream,_

_Good day, Clay. You don’t need to thank us really, but I’m glad that your family decided to mail to us. The flower was beautiful by the way. My mother framed it. Not sure I can be friends with you, but I’ll think about it. You seem…nice. Keep my father in your prayers tonight, will you?_

_Sincerely yours,_ _  
__Will_

  
  


It was short and nice. Dream thought it would be much friendlier than he’d expected. William seemed like a poignant guy, kind of serious. He felt his heart go heavy with the rejection of his friendship, but he paid it no mind. At least he was told he was nice.

Next was the other letter. He has no idea who this one came from, but if it was another letter from William, he’d gladly accept it. It smelled of chocolate and cheap paper. But as he opened the letter, he was confused from the contents of it. It read:

_Dear Dream,_

_Hello. My name is George. I think you’ve accidentally sent your letter to my neighbor, Will. Don’t worry though, I gave it to him with no problem. He’s been my friend for a long time. Sorry I read the letter. I didn’t mean to. I was excited though, reading from someone outside Britain. I’ve never talked to someone from outside Britain._

_I thought it would be fun if I would send a letter to you since you sent one to me. No need to send me one back. Just excited at the thought of talking to someone from the States. Seems fun there._

_Yours truly,_ _  
__George from Britain_

  
  


The chilled air of winter had washed over and stepped aside for the fresh, new spring of 1967. Snow had started to seep away and melt into the ground beneath it, giving rise to new plants to flourish and flowers to blossom. Less coats and scarves were being worn and only a thin layer was needed to keep warmth. His mother had more frequently left the house as well to go to work. He can still feel his forehead being kissed a goodbye before the sight of a closing door to their small but lovely home. 

George was outside his house for a while with his grandmother, about ten minutes. His hands had been dirtied with soil, slightly clumped together from it’s moisture. Though his grandmother had told him to wear gardening gloves, he couldn’t stand house leathery and rough it felt against his skin. He watched as his grandmother worked the magic as she had a small gardening shovel in her right hand. He still wasn’t so familiar with this planting business, but he could feel himself getting attached to it already.

As his grandmother told him gently about each step on how to plant seeds and eventually how to take care of them, he nodded along obediently at the instructions, reminding himself to remember each step. He glanced over to her hands, which seemed to have a different kind of skill within them, looking familiar as it moved with the shovel and as it picked a seed from the bunch. 

George couldn’t help stare. He wished to be like his grandmother. 

“Now you try, George.” George finally snapped out of trance. Hopefully his subconscious recalled what she was saying. 

His grandmother handed him the shovel and one of her gloves. He noticed how her left hand was bare.

“Wear a glove. Don’t get your clothes dirty or your mother will be mad.” 

George wanted to recoil, but looked at the warm smile on her face. Guilt shrouded his heart. He’d always been a softie for his grandmother. Softie for how she’d give him her seconds even though they were short on food that day or how gentle she’d place her hand on his. His mother was a good mother, but never had the time to do the same as her mother.

“Fine…I will.” George said. 

After a long moment of trying to get used to the texture of the glove, he decided that he should just try his best to ignore it, though it was always secretly nagging. He gripped the shovel in his right hand, one free of the glove. He could feel the wood, cool in his palm, and how the metal was even electrifying the tips of his fingertips from the air. 

As his grandmother told the instructions on what to do, he listened obediently, though his full attention wasn’t there. His mind liked to wander like that a lot, like a leaf swayed by the wind to wherever it took them. Never strict, never unfollowing. He felt his grandmother point to different parts of the ground, and George thought this was his cue to move. He scooped up dirt from the pot (hopefully that was what his grandmother said) and carefully placed the seed there in the small pit he made. 

“George, those little seedlings that can fit in your palm will grow into a _beautiful_ plant with flowers. Isn’t that fascinating?” His grandmother rubbed her hand on his hair, brushing it down. 

“Yes…” He said. He could imagine the color it would have, how it could decorate the bland town he lived in. “It would surely be.”

Once he planted them into the pot and the extra ones into the ground on their backyard lawn, he saw what could become the fruit of his labor right in front of his eyes. He can see himself crouching down, exactly the same as his grandmother, planting more flowers and foliage he could fit into this tiny lawn. He can see himself watering each plant in their special places, whispering bits and pieces of his day to them, and admire their beauty after his many weeks of hard work.

“Come George. Wash your hands.” His grandmother was stood up before him, waiting.

“Can you help me put this in my room?” His hands clutched the pot.

“Alright, alright. I’ll put it up while you wash your hands.” She said. He watched as she retreated back into their house, pot in hands.

George stood up and followed suit only to stop himself at the sight of a letter sticking out from the letter box on the door. He was left in confusion, not knowing how his grandmother wouldn’t have noticed, but still took it into his hands. The paper had been unlikely covered by dirt by the always careless George. 

His footsteps led him to the sink, but his eyes were glued on the address of the letter. It had been the same address as last time. Florida, USA. 

Again, that buzz of excitement was back, laying under his skin. It had been a while since he was properly excited by something, but this was it. He gulped, excited but also nervous at what the contents of the letter could be. Quickly, he washed his hands with soap and patted them down dry on his overalls before he ran towards his room. 

Before he could rip open the letter, he hesitated. He brought the letter back to his nose, taking in the scent; he didn’t know why he did this, but maybe it was the scent of vanilla and green apples. He remembers smelling the previous letter the whole week when he knew he was alone and everyone was snoring away. It was weird, he knew that. 

His finger slipped under the letter flap and slid under until the adhesive no longer stuck the two pieces of paper anymore. He, very so carefully, pulled out the folded paper from the envelope. He raked his eyes over the similar, messy handwriting and read:

_Dear George,_

_Well, hello there! I’m Clay. Wait, you know that already, my bad. Hello again, William’s neighbor. I know you said I didn’t need to send it back, but I’ve never had a penpal before! This is very exciting to me, and I LOVE adventures. I get in a lot of trouble for that though. Are you the same?_

_Anyways, I’m glad you sent a letter to me too. This William guy writes too seriously, and he rejected my friendship request. So I was thinking why not you’ll be my friend? I’m excited for your reply!_

_Yours truly,_ _  
__Dream_

  
  


It was the break of dawn, the sun peeking from over the horizon and birds chirping to signify morning. Though it was well into spring, it was still cold enough that you would need two or more layers, depending on how well you cope with the cold. To Dream though, that meant a morning full of grumpiness and suffering.

“Stop being a big baby, it’s not that cold.” Aubrey, his older sister said. She tugged his jacket close together, hoping it would satisfy Dream’s need of warmth.

“Summer is so much better…” Dream muttered to himself as he turned away from his sister to get the last bite of his breakfast on the plate.

Dream’s favorite season was not when frost grows over the ice and grass as his hands turn red from the cold. It’s not when leaves turn red before falling off the branches, leaving its owners bare. Though it was pleasant, the blossoming of flowers as warm air seeped into the weather wasn’t his favorite either. It was the sun blaring its rays down on the residents of this planet, keeping it warm. It was the season when school was hot and there wasn’t a need for two layers of coats. It was when you could feel how water cools your skin down after playing under the sun too long. That was his favorite season.

Though it was spring, it was still fairly cold. Unreasonably cold in fact. He could feel the tips of his toes numb even with woolly socks; he could never understand how his sister manages it. Maybe it was just the morning, just how early it was, but his fingertips said otherwise. As he gulped down the last of his apple juice, he slid his arms into the slings of his backpack.

“Alright kids, be safe!” His mom said before leaning back onto the wall, the curly-wired telephone still stuck on her ear. Her voice was loud and clear in the now empty house.

“Bye mom!” Aubrey said before opening the door to their house.

“Bye!” Dream said, waving his hands up. His mother reciprocated the act warmly before going back to her call.

They both stepped out of the doorway before Aubrey shut the door behind them. A soft thud came from the door, signaling Dream to start walking down the pavement. As they walked to the bus stop, Dream noticed the sprouts of flowers popping up from the cracks of the pavement. Colors like yellow, pink, and orange adorned the grass beside him. It was truly the middle of spring.

He didn’t realize he was stuck in his thoughts for a moment before he heard the footsteps of his sister come closer and closer to him, until they were finally side by side. He looked up at his sister, to find a letter sitting on her hand.

“What’s that?” Dream asked, pointing at the letter.

“I saw it in the mailbox,” She said. “I think this is for you.”

“Me?” Dream stopped to wonder about why he would have gotten a letter. Nothing came to mind at first, until he remembered the feeling of crumpled up paper in the snow, the texture of thin paper. Two letters from December.

“ _Oh_!” He exclaimed before grabbing the letter right out of Aubrey’s hands.

“Okay…” She muttered, most likely weirded out by her little brother’s reaction.

Dream looked down at the letter. It had a stamp coming from Britain, laid out on the top right corner where his address was written down. It was a nice cursive, very unlike his own handwriting. It was strange that a piece of paper gave him so much adrenaline, but he didn’t mind it at all.

His finger slipped under the flap of the letter, careful and slow. He was just about to open it before he felt a hand on his shoulder, making him abruptly stop in his tracks.

“We’re here.” Aubrey said.

Sure enough, the yellow sign of the bus stop stood in front of him. His forehead was a few centimeters from the pole. As he looked up at his sister, she just smirked playfully. He was slightly irked; he knew he would have to pay her back later. That’s just how they worked as siblings.

Just a few seconds passed before Dream could see the faint silhouette of the yellow bus from a distance. His eyes followed its figure as it went closer and closer before soon enough, the glass doors were right in front of him. They retracted open, leading to the two steps he had to take before entering.

As if on autopilot, his feet moved forward as he went to the middle aisle. He stepped aside as his sister went further back; he could recognize her friend’s hand ushering her to their usual seat. He looked to each side of the row before noticing an empty seat. He sat down, getting his bag off his back and onto his lap.

Just as the doors were about to close, he could hear the faint yelling of a familiar voice. It took him a while before the pieces snapped in place. He snickered into his chair as he scooched closer to the window, where he could see where the yelling came from.

It was Sapnap of course. His disheveled figure had always been a prominent part of every morning. His hair was always stuck in every direction, one strap of his bag loose and the zipper half open. It was as if he had just woken up, which was the truth. His arms were waving in the air frantically; it was almost impossible to not laugh as the bust driver was already unfazed. The doors reopened to the young boy who stepped in with small hushed apologies before clambering over to Dream.

You could only hear short pants come from Sapnap as he tried to regain his breath from running too fast.

“Hey. You’re late again.” Dream teased his seatmate.

“Whatever dude. Waking up is hard when its cold.” Sapnap folding his arms together.

“Duh, I know.” Dream said.

Sapnap glanced over to Dream’s hands. “What’s that? A letter?”

Dream suddenly remembered what he was supposed to do. “OH! I totally forgot.”

He huddled towards Sapnap, who did the same on instinct. It was obvious at how excited the younger boy was, seeing his leg bouncing up and down.

“This is a letter from the British guy.” He whispered, being overly-whispery.

“No way! That’s awesome!” Sapnap whispered back.

As Sapnap leaned closer in towards Dream, he in turn sucked in a breath, preparing himself for whatever the contents may be. He pulled out the letter from the envelope as smoothly as possible, just to make his seatmate (and himself) more excited. He looked at Sapnap, who in turn looked at him with gleaming eyes, before returning to the letter.

Once he opened the letter, the first thing he noticed was a pressed lilac, tape in the empty space after the words and dried-up ink. He widened his eyes; it must have been a call back to his first letter, which was the pink rose originally meant for William.

Carefully, he peeled the tape off, hoping not to damage the paper itself. He knew he would visit these someday in the future. Curious, he brought the lilac up to his nose. Maybe there would be a scent, maybe there wouldn’t. He didn’t care, but he still did it. Surprisingly, there is still a faint scent despite the trip from Britain to America.

“Woah! That’s a cool flower.” Sapnap grabbed the flower from Dream without notice, his hands too reckless.

“Hey! Be careful!” Dream said before he snatched the flower back. He gritted his teeth; he didn’t want to raise his temper but the flower was not just any flower. It would have cost months of travel and wait just for it to be ruined.

“Fine,” Sapnap grumbled with his arms crossed. “Let’s read now.”

_Dear Dream,_

_Hello again, it’s George. I don’t understand how penpals work but I will try to introduce myself, I suppose. I’m from Britain, but you obviously know that, and my favorite color is blue. I don’t have that many friends, but that was why I was excited to write to you. I really like chocolate and I don’t have any siblings._

_What about you? Can you tell me things about yourself? Really excited to hear from you again._

_Sincerely,  
_ _George_

As his eyes skimmed over the last written word of the letter, _George_ , he unconsciously brushed against the word. He felt how the pen indented on the paper and how the boy, his now supposed pen pal, would write. Would he be writing on the floor? On the table? Was he as excited as Dream was about this new blossoming friendship? There were so many questions left unanswered, but many more letters left to write. 

Many more letters…

“Dream, why are you doing that?” Sapnap’s questions snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked back at the younger boy, whose lips were pursed in confusion.

Dream felt himself get hot despite the cold. “D-doing what?” He scratched his nape and tried to laugh.

“That.” Sapnap’s finger was pointing straight to him, more specifically his face.

“My face? What’s wrong with my face?” Dream patted his cheeks, his forehead, his eyes. He couldn’t tell what was this ominous sign that Sapnap gave him.

“Your face is red. Like when your sister looks at her _boyfriend_!” Sapnap says, hunching over his giggles.

“What?!” Dream accidentally says too loud. It garnered attention from students nearby, but he was too caught up in his emotions to even bat an eye at them. He turned towards the windows of the school bus and saw a faint reflection of his face. Captured in that reflection was the light red tint of his cheeks and ears. Sapnap was right. 

“Well, you’re red too!” He said, his arms crossed.

Sapnap’s face fell. “Hey...that’s mean!” 

“Yeah, you look like a clown Sapnap.”

“You take that back…” Sapnap, putting his fists up in front of him like a boxer. He liked to imitate this stance a lot, despite Dream always beating him in their play-fights.

“No way!”

As the two began to start fighting each other, the bus came to a stop and so was the beginning of school. Their conversation regarding George was done and wouldn’t be brought up again on that day. 

At the time, Dream was too young to understand what any of this meant. He didn’t want to try and understand it. It seemed like a daunting tower that would take too much of his brain to try and figure out, piece by piece. Too many nuances, too many cracks. So, as a young kid would, he just let it be. Only future him with more knowledge about the world would understand.

  
  


George was not like the other kids his age, though he deeply wished he was. He willed himself not to think of it too deeply, but it would still creep up on him as his eyes wandered over the people outside his house. His grandma’s words would echo in his ears, but as he would clutch his different assortments of cheap stuffed animals, he sometimes wished for it to come true.

He clutched his mother’s hand tightly as they walked towards the school. It was a slightly long walk that ached his heels, but his mother would always pat him on the head and say, ‘Endure it, George.’ and that was all it took for him to keep his complaints to himself. When the view of his school would come closer into view, George would suck in a breath and hold his mother’s hand even tighter. He didn’t know if his mother noticed or just didn’t speak word of it. 

“Have a nice day.” His mother said faintly. He would stand there until she walked further and further away, until her figure would disappear amongst the crowds of people. Finally, he would then turn around and walk into the building. 

Students swarmed the school in and out. Many were walking through the hallways and there was much chatter amongst themselves. They tended to talk about various topics that were popular amongst the town, like tv shows, music, or comics. George would often catch himself eavesdropping on their conversations. Some were fun to listen to and some were just boring. An odd number of them were vulgar. He would tune those ones out. 

Once he managed to get past the students, he stopped in front of his classroom. Many students were sitting in others spots, talking to their friends or just keeping to themselves. It was loud and bustling, filled with the voices of kids who didn’t even think deeply about what their breakfast would be. They would be shoulder to shoulder, just excited to be near one another.

He saw his spot, which was close to the back, off to the side. It had always been his spot. He could daydream about various things and his teachers would never find him out. That was his happy space, where his thoughts would roam free in their abode and his ideas would soak into his dreams at night.

But every once in a while, when he wasn’t daydreaming or doodling, he would catch himself staring at his classmates. Many of whom were smiling, eyes bright and full of happiness. So many of them were in groups, having fun sleepovers and lunches together. How lovely it would be to have friends like those. Sometimes, when he was having a sour mood, they looked too bright for his muted world. He felt a weight in that brightness. He would turn away during those days. 

He wished he was like the other kids. To let out your thoughts to someone. To talk to them about anything, everything. To be their anything and everything. He would think this relentlessly, though he couldn’t really explain what he wants to his grandmother whenever she asks what's bothering him. Today was not an exception.

Once George went home, he would see a familiar face between those of many strangers.

“Hello.” Will greeted him from his house.

Despite everything he wants, at least he had Will. Will, the boy who mourned. Too young to experience loss. 

They weren’t close and never managed to talk for more than twenty minutes because of Will’s homeschooling. He was just a convenient neighbor who was lucky enough to be his age. But George still cared for the boy, especially from what he went through. Maybe there would be one day where they talk amongst themselves; a heart-to-heart. Maybe about comics, or music, or plants. Who knows?

“Hello.” George greeted back.

But today was not that day. As George retreated back into his home, he promised to himself that one day he would gather up the courage to make Will a close friend. But he knew himself; he was not brave enough to break this stale normality between the two.

The house was quiet once again. It was quiet, save for only the sounds of people talking outside and cars rumbling on the streets. His grandmother would be taking a nap at this time of the day and so would he from the tire of the day’s work. His brain would be chiseled down to only it’s thinnest bits before he lets the cushions of his bed envelop him in a deep sleep. That would be his favorite time of the day. When he would wake up, it would be the middle of the afternoon where he could do some gardening with his grandmother. That was also his favorite time of the day.

That was until he felt something poke at his foot. He looked down and saw the slightest sliver of paper appear from underneath his foot. Mindlessly, he picked it up, thinking it was the bills or perhaps something for his uncle. But once he saw the same messy handwriting, he knew.

He immediately dashed to his bedroom and jumped onto the bed. This was the perfect thing to pick up his mood from the dull ache of school. He couldn’t stop himself from grinning. Why is that? He couldn’t tell, but he knows that this is a pleasant emotion; something he would never trade the world for.

George opened the letter, not minding as much as before if it would rip or not. He reached into the envelope, hoping to be met with a piece of paper, but was instead met with what seemed to be a bracelet. Curious, he took it out to see what this was. Once he finally caught sight of it, he could only gasp.

It was a simple bracelet. It was thin and made of braided thread. In the middle of the two ends was a metal clasp, used to adjust the size of it to however you want. It had a beautiful green design, something he only saw a few of his schoolmates wear.

“Woah…” George couldn’t help himself but audibly show his surprise.

He held it lightly, so much so that it could fall out of his hands. As carefully as he could, he undid the metal clasp and put the braided cord around his wrist and clasped it shut. He gazed at the bracelet once more. It fit snugly onto his skin. As he looked at it, even going as far as to stare at his own wrist, he felt his heartbeat quicken. So much faster than ever. He pursed his lips in order to stop a full grin from popping out of his face. He felt like his heart was going to ooze joy. 

George clutched his own wrist and held it against his chest. Out of all the gifts he’s received, this might be the best so far.

_Dear George,_

_Hey! I’m writing this at school right now and my friend Sapnap keeps teasing me about how excited I was to get your letter. He’s so stupid but I don’t care about him._

_Anyways...how do i start this? My name is Clay, and my favorite color is green. Oh! If you’re reading this right now, you must have gotten my bracelet! It’s green, my favorite color. And I have blue, which is your favorite color. Isn’t that awesome? They’re called friendship bracelets and only the bestest of bestest friends can have them. I just went ahead and got one in advance, hehe._

_I don’t really like chocolate, actually. It’s too sweet for me. But I love salty things! Also how lucky is it that you have no siblings? All my sister does is make fun of me :(._

_How was your day? My day went well (except for Sapnap making fun of me) and afterwards we went out to eat ice cream. I like ice cream. If you hate ice cream, you are stupid. That’s a joke if you couldn’t tell. Hopefully sending letters gets easier because I cannot wait 2 weeks!_

_From,_ _  
__Dream_

  
  



End file.
